The Safe House
by Snow Bender
Summary: In a world where magic is illegal and exploited in the underground for entertainment purposes, there stands a safe house. A place where young mages are brought to live their lives in peace. But what happens when even that begins to fail? (SYOC open)
1. Chapter 1

**January, X823**  
**_Crocus, Fiore_**  
_Milton Gower_

* * *

**{[** _The Safe House_ **]}**

* * *

It was frigid out that night. Snow dappled the ground and fluttered from the sky, gathering on the shoulders of his jacket and the gel that adorned his hair. The city was relatively quiet – Milton assumed most of the citizens were asleep, and the ones that weren't? They were the ones he was looking to find.

The flier in his gloved hand, lit by a nearby street light, read "Lyrus' Gentleman's Club," which was offputting to say the least, but Mil understood the necessity of the coverup. He didn't like it, of course, but he was a smart man. Smart enough, indeed, to grasp the concept of concealment. Particularly when the nature of the thing concealed was of the illegal variety.

Now, Milton Gower did not approve of the activities occurring in the so-called "Gentleman's Club," but he had his own reasons for checking it out.

Jack Frost was proverbially nipping at his nose by the time he turned off of the main road and down a cobblestone path, the heels of his dress shoes clipping against the hard ground underneath his feet. It was much darker down the path he took, but Milton had no reason to be afraid. Even as he approached the door and knocked, he didn't experience so much as a twinge of anxiety. He simply handed the bouncer his flier and exactly twenty jewel and was allowed in without question.

Inside was much warmer – too warm, in fact, for Milton's taste. He removed his jacket and adorned his glasses, trying to combat the dim lighting. It helped, but there was nothing he could do about the sound or the smell that permeated the air around him. Alcohol. About fifty different types of cologne. Dirt. Smoke. Sweat.

Blood.

Finding the source of the sounds and smells was simple enough. A crowd of people surrounded a massive cage that stretched from floor to ceiling, to keep the inhabitants contained.

The sound, here, was much more intense. The crowd was shouting, cheering... drunk and boisterous and thrilled about the cagematch they were watching. It was horrifying, really, to experience such intense enthusiasm at the expense of others. Particularly those who had no choice in the matter whatsoever - who had no rights or voice for themselves.

Fiore was still a magic-touched country... just in the underground.

Milton pushed his way to the front of the crowd, dodging spilled booze and swinging fists and flying spittle.

The poor mages in the cage were nearly spent. A man with what looked to be a simple water magic hit the cage in front of Milton, head knocked back and breath rattling out in wet gasps. He was hurt, clearly, his face burned from his chin to his right brow and down his chest. Mil felt badly for him, truly - he was young, wounded, and scared, but he wasn't the one Milton was here for. He wasn't the one from the rumors.

But the other brawler was.

It was a boy in his early teens, clad in tattered, soaked clothes. Blood-matted, pale hair was plastered to his forehead and down the nape of his neck - one eye squeezed shut and the other aglow with some sort of orange energy. The same energy spun spider webs down his veins, all the way down to his hands. They were clenched into fists at his sides, but the blisters were still visible - burned beyond belief.

The energy flared and the kid winced, took a deep breath, and held a hand toward the older mage that he was fighting. Light gathered in his palm and the skin sizzled, filling the air with the disconcerting smell of burning flesh. His own magic was burning him.

"I give up! Mercy!" the water mage cried, holding his hands up to protect his already-burned face. "Please, call off the fight!"

After a moment of hesitation, the boy lowered his hand. The energy faded and he took a few shaky breaths to steady himself, visibly exhausted. Milton had to wonder how many fights he had been through that night. After all, he was the up-and-coming superstar of the underground fighting rings.

His owner was proud of him, no doubt.

Milton watched as the handlers ushered the two mages out of the cage, using cattle prods to guide them. Empathy flooded him as he witnessed them placing the cuffs on the boy's burned wrists, likely to cancel out his magic so he couldn't hurt anyone and escape. They'd take a massive loss if any of their mages were to escape, after all. It wouldn't just be one of their fighters running off - it would put the entire underground ring in jeopardy.

Shifting his coat into the crook of his elbow, Milton walked over to the other side of the cage, where the mage boy was being handed over to his owner on a degrading little leash. He cleared his throat to get the attention of both mage and owner.

"Evening, gentleman," he greeted, using the term in the loosest sense of the word. He dipped his head a bit, offering the owner a small smile. "My name is Milton Gower. I'm here because of... well," he continued, gesturing toward the young mage, "because of him."

The owner was a fat man, dressed in suspenders and a stained white blazer. It was obvious that he was inebriated, squinting his beady eyes in Milton's direction. "An' what about 'im?" he asked, arching one bushy eyebrow and nudging the bloody kid by his side. "Ye heard 'bout him fightin'? I knew word'd spread quick. He's one 'a th' best fighters I've ever-" There was a pause, where the ugly man hiccuped before going on as though nothing had happened to interrupt him, "-seen. Whaddaya want with 'im?"

Milton forced a smile onto his thin lips, patience wearing down quickly. He'd never liked drunks. "I want to buy him." Like his actions, his words were clipped and concise - to the point and confident. It helped in these kinds of situations, he found.

"Hah?" the man asked, and to Milton it seemed as though he legitimately didn't understand what he'd said. But then the other man's face quirked up in a wry smirk and he leaned in so closely that Mil could scent the whiskey on his breath. "How much we talkin'?"

* * *

The discussion was a relatively short one, but money wasn't an issue for Milton, and everyone could be bought in some way or another. The boy had been brought to the barracks to be cleaned while his owner and Milton bargained for him. And by the time he returned, Milton was signing the contract that stated that he was the new owner of what they were calling a "fire mage."

To his credit, the boy remained calm, given the circumstances. He followed Milton through the crowd and out into the street, hands no longer bound by the cuffs but burns still littering his pale skin. A cute kid, Milton thought, with honey blond hair that curled as it dried and downcast gray eyes.

It wasn't until the two of them reached a hotel and Milton bought a room for the night that the teen looked up at him, gaze narrowed and hands trembling.

"I'm not going to fight for you," he announced, voice clearer and much less terrified than Milton had expected, though his body language suggested otherwise. "'M done fighting. I don't want to hurt other mages anymore."

Milton offered the kid a small smile, settling down onto one of the two queen-sized beds to look up at him. "Fortunately for you, kiddo, that's not why I bought you."

There was a beat of silence before the teen spoke again. "What do you mean?" he asked, hesitant and skeptical. Mil didn't blame him at all.

"I'm not going to ask you to fight for or against anyone. The only reason that I'm here is to give you a choice." The man rolled his shoulders and winced when one of them cracked. Aging was not fun whatsoever. "You can either leave this place right now and live on your own, in a country where magic is outlawed and you'd either be sent to prison or thrown back in the fighting ring. Or," he continued, seeing that he had piqued the boy's interest. "Or you can come with me. I've got a little... safe haven for kids like you. Mages I've rescued from similar situations - prison or fights or off the streets. Their stories are all different." He removed his tie and began to unlace his shoes. "But they all need shelter, like you. A place to stay. A bed. Food. Education. All of which will be provided to you at no expense."

The kid crossed his arms over his chest, hiding his blistered hands in his arm pits. "There's always an expense," he grumbled softly.

"Not really, no." Milton looked up at him again. "I'm a billionaire with more money than I know what to do with, and our justice system is flawed. You may find it hard to believe, but I really am just here to help." He offered him a smile. "I could even teach you how to control that magic of yours better, if you like."

For a while, the teen pondered the idea. Mil could practically hear the cogs in his head whirring as he thought it over.

And finally, he spoke. Gray eyes flickered from Milton's face to the floor and back again. "Would I... could I..." he began, stuttering over his words. "Is there any way that I could... y'know... help you help other mages? Kids like me?" he finally asked, and Milton chuckled, already growing fond of the kid.

"Sure you could. You're not the first one to ask me that," he agreed, extending a hand toward the kid. "My name is Milton Gower, by the way. How rude of me to have not introduced myself."

The teen reached his hand out tentatively, offering him a small smile of his own. "Um... I'm Asher."

* * *

**{[ **_The Safe House_ **]}**

* * *

**March, X826**  
**_Between the Countries of Fiore and Seven_**  
_Milton Gower_

* * *

Three years later...

The House was lively and filled with laughter, as it almost always was. Asher had stayed, which Milton was grateful for. The teen's presence had initially been more of a burden on the establishment - he was a bit of a brat when he'd first arrived. Picking fights with the other kids and arguing against Milton over each and every single thing he could manage to find fault in. It was a hard adjustment period, but one Milton wouldn't change for the world.

Now, Asher was an asset. The younger kids loved him, which was obvious. After those first few months of adjustment, he'd become a fan favorite - mostly because he could light up and stand on his hands, and was all-around pretty entertaining in general. His personality had popped out and he'd developed into a much kinder young man.

"Oh god, Mil, they got me!" said boy gasped, holding his chest as though he'd been stabbed as he staggered around the corner. Dramatically and with great gusto, he tossed himself into the older man's arms, placing the back of one hand on his forehead like a fainting damsel in distress. "Leave me, save yourself..." he panted, gray eyes half-lidded.

Footsteps barreled down the hall and at least four or five young children - all mages, some of which Asher had helped bring to the House himself - launched themselves around the corner toward the faux-dying older mage.

The sound he made when the bigger two hit his chest _did_ sound quite painful, and Milton stepped out of the way to let the pile of kids hit the ground, laughing and squirming and excited.

"Slay the dragon! Slay the dragon!" the children chanted, all beating down on Asher like they _actually _were trying to kill him. The teen didn't seem to mind, and just went along with it... until he smirked and snatched the youngest one in his arms, tickling her sides mercilessly.

"The dragon lives!" he roared, standing up with three kids hanging from his body. His blond hair stuck out everywhere, and he was grinning like a maniac.

And Milton absolutely hated - abhorred - having to break up his kid's playtime, but...

"Asher," he interrupted, smiling as he leaned on the wall. The teen and kids all paused to look at him. "There's someone who needs our help in Fiore."

It was impressive how quickly the blond switched over from play to work mode, but Milton could tell he was disappointed as he nudged the children off of himself. "Sorry guys, we can play later. When I get back, okay?" he asked, talking over their wails of indignation. He didn't relent, though, and soon ushered the children back down the hall toward their rooms.

"So," he began, looking back at Milton. "Where're we going?"

* * *

**{[ **_The Safe House_** ]}**

* * *

**An - **_Hey guys! Back at it again with a new SYOC. I really hope this one gets more attention than the last one I tried, but I'm very hopeful! _

_This is set in a world where magic is illegal in Fiore, so there are no Guilds. Milton Gower is a middle-aged billionaire who became sick of the country's treatment of mages and decided to do something about it. Though he is not a mage himself, Gower has read countless books in his library on magic, and helps the kids learn how to control and develop their different magical abilities._

_**Rules**_

_1) Pm me the form - please title it "TSH - [Character Name] - Magic type". Forms posted in reviews will be deleted.  
2) Review before you send me the form, please! This is just to let me know how many people will be applying.  
3) I'm not sure how many characters I will accept. Probably around ten or so.  
4) Be diverse! I won't accept static characters. Try to avoid magics used in the show and don't make copies of characters. The cast of Fairy Tail will not be making any appearance in this story.  
5) Be detailed! I love having long forms to read through.  
6) Have fun! If you have any questions, please pm me!_

_Love, Snow_


	2. Flashback chapter and important AN!

**Late January, X823**  
**_The Safe House, between Fiore and Seven_**  
_Asher_

* * *

**{[** _The Safe House_ **]}**

* * *

The House was massive. Bigger than any house Asher had ever seen, much less been invited to live in. White walls and Victorian-style pillars held up the outside, with a large front porch that overlooked the forests and fields surrounding. It was built halfway into a mountain – for security, he'd guess. It was easier to keep things safe if they were hidden underground, after all. The men at the fighting rings had taught him that much, and for all it was worth, it was the one thing they had been right about. Milton was like them, in that way.

But there were many more differences than similarities between the old man and the men Asher was used to, he was finding.

Milton Gower was a strange man. Tall – several inches taller than Asher's relatively slight form, - with parchment-pale skin and kind blue eyes that squinted behind smallish glasses. Crows feet and smile lines adorned his halfway-aged face, and if Asher had to place an age on him, it'd probably be in the forties or fifties. But really, it seemed Milton could be timeless.

As much as he hated the idea of it, over the past few weeks, he'd come to like the man. He'd been... nice to Asher and the rest of the kids that lived with him. Never, not even once, had he lost his temper with anyone, and Ash had pushed for it. Tested his patience and picked fights and started arguments. It was a test. To see if Milton would turn into a monster, like the others.

But he never did.

"Your hands," the man had said one day at dinner, watching intently as Asher's damaged fingers shook while trying to lift a goddamn spoon. They often ate together, much to Asher's distaste. He would have rather been alone, but Milton insisted on getting to know him. "Can you feel them, at all?"

Ash had arched one brow at Milton in return, gray eyes narrowed skeptically. "Some, but not much," he answered truthfully, wrapping one hand around the other. "Think my magic burns them. From the inside. 'S'okay, though. Don't really need to worry about it."

A hum escaped the older male's throat. "On the contrary." He lifted his spoon deftly and took a bite of his own soup. "You're my charge, now. I have every right to worry about it. Maybe I could even help."

"Pfft. Sure." Asher made sure every ounce of sarcasm he could contain in his body was placed into that one statement. "Not like I need full use of my hands to punch someone, right?"

"I've already told you, you don't need to worry about that anymore," Milton assured, tone placating and calm as he set his spoon back down on the mahogany tabletop. _Fucking billionaires._

Asher folded his hands into his lap, his gaze following them. He said nothing.

The man smiled again. "I might not be able to get your feeling back, but I can help in other ways." He stood and lifted the flap on the satchel he had hanging off the back of one of the ornate chairs that surrounded the huge table. A book was drawn out, old and battered. Ash couldn't even really make out the name of it. "I've managed to find a book on your specific type of magic in my library. As you're well aware, you are no simple fire mage."

"Yeah, I guessed as much," he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to feel secure in some way. The teen couldn't really bring himself to look up at Milton just yet.

Milton slid the book across the table toward him, and Ash begrudgingly opened the cover to read what was inside.

There were a few beats of silence before he spoke. "Astral Magic?" he asked, finally meeting Milton's gaze. Those blue eyes were just as kind as ever.

"Yes," he responded, folding his hands on the table and sitting down in his chair once more. "It is an extremely... volatile type of magic. The energy coursing through your veins is technically too much for your body to handle - hence the blistering and nerve damage." Milton nodded down at his hands. "I can only imagine what it would've been like if you'd used that much energy all throughout your body instead of just your hands. You've never been trained before, have you?"

It wasn't asked in a condescending way, but Asher still felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. "No. Kinda had to figure it out on my own." He wriggled his traitorous fingers on his right hand and wrinkled his nose. "It was easier to channel it through my hands. Didn't burn the rest of me as much." Jamming his hands underneath his thighs to sit on them, he looked back up at the billionaire.

Milton huffed out a sigh through his nose and smiled, once again. Ash found that he didn't quite hate it as much this time. "Well, you don't have to do that anymore," he offered, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his shirt. "I've been thinking of some exercises we can do to strengthen your hands again. Improve your dexterity. Maybe then you'll be able to pick up a spoon or a pencil normally." When Asher didn't object instantly, he continued. "Then, we can work on ways to channel your magic to where it won't burn you. I've read that book front to back at least three times this week, and slowly building up tolerance and control are the best ways they've found to deal with it. Of course, there will always be a burning point, but we'll try and steer clear of that."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Milton's voice was surprised, as though he'd expected Asher to argue with him on the topic. And really, Asher couldn't blame him. He'd been a terror for the past three weeks.

"Yeah. Okay," he repeated, a small smile forming on his own lips. "Look, you, uh... you've been nice to me. To the others. You really care for us, and... I think being able to use my hands and my magic more effectively sounds good." He cursed himself for his ineloquence. "So, if you really want to do that... then, okay."

Milton's gaze softened further and he nodded his head in agreement. "Right, then. We'll start tomorrow, after breakfast."

* * *

**{[ **_The Safe House _**]}**

* * *

**An - **_Hello, everyone! Thank you for all of the reviews, follows, favorites, pms, and submissions!_

_I wanted to take a few minutes here to talk about some topics that have come up, either in questions or in submissions that I've noticed. And really, it's my fault for not making more rules._

_1\. Please don't make **Slayer** magic without asking first. The only Dragon Slayers I'm allowing are Second Generation, as Dragons have been extinct for a very long time in this storyline. I'd really rather Slayers just stay at a minimum in general.  
2\. **Diversity** is important! I've had several submissions over the past day, and only one of those characters has been anything but straight. There is absolutely nothing wrong with being straight at all, just to let you know, but when you get four or five characters in a row with the exact same sexuality... it gets a bit boring, as a writer and a reader. Please shake things up a bit - push yourself out of your comfort zone when creating characters!  
3\. **Detail**! I want your characters to take multiple PMs to send in. I feel as though I don't have enough information in just one message - it's why I made the form so long. I'm a big big big fan of detail.  
4\. Please send in characters that **live in the Safe House.** I'll only be accepting a few that they have to rescue - most of the characters that I need are Safe House residents already. c:  
5\. Please read the form carefully for more instruction._

_I think that's all for now. I have yet to accept any characters, because I want to have more forms to look through, but I have a few that I'm a big fan of. Thank you again for your submissions and comments and critiques. All of them are appreciated!_


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